


Dumpster Fire

by lynne_monstr



Category: Leverage
Genre: Cats, Flufftober, Gen Work, M/M, quinn and cats, the important questions, why does quinn get beat up so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynne_monstr/pseuds/lynne_monstr
Summary: Quinn's in a bit of a tight spot, but not to worry. He has company.Written for Flufftober Day 8: Pets





	Dumpster Fire

**Author's Note:**

> I always talk about Quinn adopting cats over on tumblr, so I guess it was only a matter of time before I finally wrote fic.

Quinn crouched behind a row of trash cans, his only a weapon a gun with no bullets. Footsteps approached, then slowed as they reached the entrance to the alley. The street was eerily silent, and he didn’t dare to do so much as breathe.

If he got out of here alive, he was going to murder the broker who arranged this job for him.

Motion caught the corner of his eye and his free hand gripped his gun tighter. As useless as it currently was, it was better than bare hands. The muscles in his legs tensed, ready to move. Better to go down fighting than die on filthy asphalt.

A small shadow detached itself from around the closest trash bin, sending his heartbeat skyrocketing before he realized there was no threat. In the dimness, he recognized the shape as a tiny black kitten. The animal looked about as beat up as him, and he felt a stab of sympathy.

“He’s not here, let’s move.”

Quinn tensed at the words coming from the main street, but quickly relaxed when he realized his dumb ruse might actually work.

It was quickly followed by a wave of embarrassment that he’d been sent on the run by anyone who would fall for that old trick. But in his defense, he’d been referred to this job by someone he—well, trust wasn’t the right word in his line of business, but someone he didn’t immediately _distrust_. Looked like it was time to update his rolodex.

A pinprick against his calf nearly sent him rolling to the ground to avoid what he assumed what a badly placed tranq dart. But the angle for that kind of shot was all wrong and when he looked down, he couldn’t help but grin down at the tiny kitten attempting to climb its way up his pant leg.

“Looks like you could use a hand, little guy.”

Scooping the cat up by the scruff, he cradled it against his chest as he finally stood. It was a relief to stretch his legs, and he tucked away his gun after making a final visual sweep.

The kitten scrambled against the front of his shirt until its head was pressed up against his neck. Normally Quinn would object violently to having anything that near to his throat. It was his experience that people who got that close weren’t generally looking to do good things. But he supposed he could make the occasional exception. It’s not like there was anyone to call him out on it.

Tiny shivers vibrated against his skin, and he raised a distracted hand to stroke along the matted fur and lend some warmth. He’d spent many a cold night alone on the run, he could sympathize with wanting a warm place to rest your head.

“Looks like you’re in luck,” he said, as he strode from the alley. “I happen to have room for one more.”

Weaving his way down the sidewalk, he was just another face in the crowd. The sounds of a city making its way through the dead of night followed him as he walked, a soothing blanket of anonymity. Taxis blasted their horns. The radios of cars faded in an out as they drove by. The occasional singing or shouting echoed between the buildings.

A group of rowdy kids, red-faced and laughing, spilled out from a neon lit bar. Quinn kept a wary eye out even as he pretended to be deeply involved in studying the pavement. It wasn’t likely one of them was a specialist with orders to drag him back, but a healthy amount paranoia was just that. Healthy.

“If you’re going to stick around, you’ll need a name,” He picked up the thread of his earlier conversation, voice pitched low enough not to carry as they turned down a more bustling street.

“We could call you Niq. Because that’s my name spelled backwards.” He was actually pretty proud of that one, but at that exact moment the cat reared back and hissed. Quinn felt the tiny pricks of claws near his collar.

“You know, you’re not the first to point a sharp object at me when you didn’t get your way. That’s hardly good manners.”

The cat let out a pitiful meow before burrowing back into Quinn’s neck.

“Thank you, that’s better.” He resumed idly petting. “Okay, well how about Dumpster Fire.”

The cat’s head nudged the side of his throat and he took it for an affirmative.

That settled, he turned his mind to other matters. He kept a safehouse nearby that should be secure enough for the next twenty-four hours. It was as good a place as any to start his hunt for the man who thought he could sell Quinn to the highest bidder. Normally he didn’t like doing jobs without pay, but for this he’d make the exception. After all, his professional reputation was on the line, and it would be open season on him if he didn’t demonstrate exactly why that was a very bad idea.

He looked down at his new companion. “How do you feel about dinner and a murder?”

The kitten started purring.

Quinn gave it a quick scritch around the ears.

“I think we’ll get along just fine, you and me.”


End file.
